


Pyrrhic Victory

by clementine (Clementine)



Category: Motorcity
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 09:10:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clementine/pseuds/clementine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The illustrious kingdom of Raymanthia is besieged by an invading horde of savages and Lord Vanquisher is cruelly bereft of his most loyal and beloved knight. (Mikey and Chuckles do the LARP thing and also a little bit of the "having big gross crushes on each other" thing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pyrrhic Victory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PeaceLilies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeaceLilies/gifts).



> So, uh, this... this is the first piece of fanfiction I've written in over ten years. It was inspired by PeaceLilies' LARP fic. I have no real explanation for this, honestly; this shit is totally campy ridiculous nonsense and I have no idea what I'm doing but goddammit if Mike and Chuck aren't the most precious, dweeby boyfriends ever. Also Ruby, because Ruby is HBIC.

        With a ferocious bellow, Ruby charged, her sword held aloft. She ducked and darted, dodging the blades and arrows whirling past her head. Someone grabbed for her braid but she dispatched her attacker with a well-placed blow to the abdomen, and he dropped to his knees, his entrails spewing forth in a steaming mass. The sound of his miserable death rattle echoed in the valley, but Ruby did not so much as spare him a backward glance. She could not afford to.

        Her king was in trouble.

        The castle was under siege; the defending forces of Raymanthia had been scattered by besieging brutes and now, though Thurman the Magnificent and Sir Bloodbeard protectively flanked Lord Vanquisher with their weapons and shields at the ready, they were all that was left – and they were pressed in on all sides and beginning to tire.

        “Fear not, my brothers-in-arms!” Ruby cried. “I have come to aid you!”

        She scaled a gnarled tree (okay, so maybe it was a rusted telephone pole crowned with dead wires that only barely resembled leafless branches, but whatever) and shrugged her bow from her shoulder. Breathless with panic, she nocked an arrow – fletched with the royal blue – and let it loose. It flew wide of its mark, and she cursed angrily. She rained several more upon the savages that fought for Lord Vanquisher's crown and many fell beneath the onslaught, but it was no use. More were coming: endless waves of warriors, mad-eyed and bloodthirsty. Their trampling feet stirred great eddies of dust in the air, choking Lord Vanquisher and his soldiers.

        Until now, Lord Vanquisher had been holding his own against those that would unseat him from his rightful place atop the throne of Raymanthia, but Ruby heard his abrupt cry of agony ringing over the crash of blades. A mercenary from the attacking nation had pierced the king's left arm with a dagger, rendering his sword arm useless, and Lord Vanquisher now had no choice but to retreat. He grasped a battered, discarded shield from the ground and held it aloft, protecting himself from any further harm, but he was being herded into a corner – soon, he would be backed up against the castle's outer wall and would have no means of escape.

        “No, my liege! It's a trap!” Ruby cried, unleashing arrow after arrow. She was sworn to protect her beloved king with her life; no savages would take Raymanthia while she still breathed! The very thought was enough to set her blood to boiling... but even so, she knew Raymanthia's soldiers were outnumbered ten to one by the invaders. After the gods of victory had smiled upon Lord Vanquisher and his loyal subjects for so many moons, perhaps... perhaps the time had come for darkness to fall over the kingdom once again –-

        Suddenly, a familiar, dark-clad shape vaulted over the parapets with a lusty whoop. He carried a long staff, whirling it above his head in a wide arc and using it to cut a swathe through the thick of the attacking horde. Bodies littered the battlefield in a grisly scene, the cries of the dying a terrible symphony.

        The Smiling Dragon had arrived.

        “ _Mikey!_ ” Lord Vanquisher exclaimed happily, then quickly composed himself with regal authority. “I mean... er... Hail, Smiling Dragon.”

        “Sorry to keep you waiting, my lord,” the Smiling Dragon said, rushing to his king's side to defend him, though their foes had drawn back in fear for a brief moment. “I was a little busy with some, uh, centaurs back there.”

        Sir Bloodbeard saluted the Smiling Dragon with reverence. “I am relieved you are alive and unharmed, brave knight. I had feared the worst.”

        “Alive, sure,” the Smiling Dragon said, grimacing and rubbing his jaw, “but I don't know about _unharmed_ , necessarily. Those centaur guys pack one hell of a punch.”

        “Unholy beasts,” Ruby agreed. The Smiling Dragon glanced up at her over his shoulder in surprise – he hadn't realized she was perched above them – then shot her a grin.

        “Huh. Looks like we've got air support,” he said. “Nice job, Darkslayer.”

        She nocked another arrow, took out a lone, charging troll with expert aim, and raised a proud eyebrow at him. “Yes, well, once you boys are done chattering like a couple of midwives, I believe we've got a kingdom to defend.”

        “Hey, you heard the lady,” the Smiling Dragon said, cracking his knuckles and elbowing Lord Vanquisher. “Ready to send these suckers back to hell?”

        Though all Raymanthians would have laid down their lives for their king, the Smiling Dragon was Lord Vanquisher's most loyal – and fearsome – knight. With the Smiling Dragon's help, Raymanthia had reigned victorious for innumerable weekends, flourishing and thriving under her king's capable hands. The kingdom's numbers had swelled, taking in defectors from other nations.  

      Thus Lord Vanquisher's enemies, led by the treasonous former queen Lady Drusilla the Worst, were driven by necessity to band together to push at Raymanthia's borders. Lulled into false security, the Raymanthians had not been expecting such an orchestrated attack, and had been cut down quickly. Lord Vanquisher had scrambled to assemble an appropriate defense, but by that time, most of his trusted commanders were nothing more than bloodied corpses in the dirt. The battle was nigh on hopeless nearly as soon as it started. 

        Now it was up to Ruby the Darkslayer, Thurman the Magnificent, Sir Bloodbeard, and the Smiling Dragon to save the day.        

        Lord Vanquisher frowned at the Smiling Dragon and raised a limp arm. “You shall have to return to battle without me, men. I've been grievously wounded.”        

        “Seriously? Well, shit. Should we patch you up or what? Are you gonna, like, bleed out?” The Smiling Dragon scratched his head, staring at Lord Vanquisher's arm. “Is that a thing that can happen?”        

        “I'll be fine. My woolen tunic is soaking up most of the blood, you see.” Lord Vanquisher picked at his bloodless sleeve.        

        “Oh. Right. Uh, I mean, that's... truly fortuitous, my lord.”        

        Lord Vanquisher adjusted his crown. “Indubitably.”        

        The Smiling Dragon coughed loudly into his fist, but Ruby could have sworn he was laughing. With surreptitious movements, Lord Vanquisher pulled the collar of his cape over his face to hide what looked distressingly like a blush.        

        “We are besieged!” Thurman the Magnificent crowed, pointing to the horizon, where enemy forces had gathered strength and were returning for another charge. “Let us do battle!”        

        The snorts of ogres, the braying of centaurs, the ululating of trolls, and the bellows of humans all intermingled in a deafening din. Beneath Ruby, the battlefield churned. She could only barely see the flashes of vibrant blue on the tabards of her brothers before they were swallowed up again by the sea of bodies in motion. From her spot in the tree, Ruby peppered the horde with arrows and picked off any foes that rushed Lord Vanquisher, who could do naught to defend himself but bash attackers in the face with his shield should they get too close. 

        Ruby reached for another arrow but her hand grasped only empty air: her quiver was depleted. She dropped her bow to the ground and attempted to shimmy down the trunk of the tree, but her legs had gotten tangled in its wires – er, _branches_ – and she had to fight to free herself. 

        Sir Bloodbeard's plumed helm bobbed and dipped amongst the waves of enemies until it finally disappeared - and did not reappear. Ruby held out hope for a moment until it was extinguished by Bloodbeard's cry of “Hark, I have been most tragically slain! Doom has befallen me! Oh, how the many ladies of the brothels shall mourn my passing! I was a frequent customer!” 

        Bloodbeard never went down quietly, at least. 

        “Smiling Dragon!” Lord Vanquisher shrieked, dodging a crushing blow from an ogre's maul and knocking the brute to the ground with his shield. “He'll be overwhelmed - Darkslayer, help him!' 

        Ruby stilled her struggle with the knotted wires and turned her gaze where her king was pointing: the Smiling Dragon was nearly buried under a frenzy of enemies, swinging his staff blindly. The Smiling Dragon was favoring his right leg, his defensive stance listing terribly to one side, and grunting with desperate effort as he countered and parried fierce blows. His hair was plastered to his face with sweat and his teeth were bared in an animalistic snarl. He was every inch a terrifying adversary, pulsating with rage, and she couldn't help the swell of pride she felt watching him decimate Raymanthia's enemies. 

        “Ruby, _please!_ ” Lord Vanquisher pleaded. 

        “Yes, my king!” Ruby finally kicked free and landed on the ground hard enough to nearly knock the wind out of her, but she was back on her feet almost immediately. Though unsteady, she unsheathed her blade and began hacking at everything in her way that wasn't clad in a blue tabard. She bashed a centaur in the neck once, twice, but the centaur didn't seem to notice – it continued advancing on the Smiling Dragon, its hooves beating a terrible tattoo on the ground. 

        “Hey!” Ruby shouted, poking the centaur with the tip of her blade. “I got you, dude.” 

        The centaur paused and wheeled around, dragging its unwieldy horse body. “Huh?” 

        “I got you. Right there, in the neck.” For emphasis, she stabbed the centaur again. “You're dead.” 

        “Oh, jeez, you are totally right. Sorry about that. I just got totally caught up in the heat of the moment – I mean, this is all pretty exciting, you know? Anyway... look, I'm _super_ dead right now. Check this out.” With a melodramatic flourish, the centaur gasped, retched, and slumped over twitching. 

        From across the battlefield, Ruby heard Thurman the Magnificent's war cry, but it was brutally cut short by a sword through the chest. His bellow trailed off into a gurgle before he splayed in the dirt, his tongue lolling out. A number of trolls tripped over his corpse and took several moments to right themselves, and Ruby took the chance to rush to the Smiling Dragon's side; there was no time to mourn Thurman's death. Grief would have to wait until the battle was over, and, indeed, grieve she would. Thurman had been a brave warrior, and he had died a fitting warrior's death. 

        The Smiling Dragon spotted Ruby coming to his aid and was momentarily elated, but suddenly his gaze fixed on a point over her shoulder and his joy turned to terror. Ruby stopped and whirled around in time to see Lord Vanquisher on her heels being pursued by a cluster of very, very angry centaurs and humans, and they were quickly gaining. With a burst of panic-fueled fury, the Smiling Dragon swept his staff low to the ground in a tight circle, knocking his attackers off their feet. He beheaded several of them in a messy fashion, their blood soaking into the dirt like water, and disemboweled the rest.

        “You shall not have my king,” he shouted at the invading army, his voice rolling across the valley like thunder. “I will die before I let any harm befall him.” 

        A troll raised her mace in the air, her face contorted with bloodlust, and shouted back. “Then die you shall, worthless human!” 

        Ruby and the Smiling Dragon fought back to back with Lord Vanquisher protected between them, cutting down foes together gracefully as though taking part in a bloody ballet. Rivulets of sweat trickled down the Smiling Dragon's dark skin and Ruby's braid had come undone so that her hair was whipping in the wind as she whirled, ducked, and slashed. 

        “We can't win!” Ruby lamented. “There's too many of them.” 

        "What other choice do we have?" the Smiling Dragon said, blinking more sweat out of his eyes. 

        “The Darkslayer is right.” Lord Vanquisher had to yell to be heard over the sound of the battle that raged around them, and he sounded weary, resigned to his fate. “Even the Smiling Dragon can't save us this time. Put down your blades, comrades.” 

        The Smiling Dragon glanced over his shoulder at his king, his mouth drawn in unpleasant surprise. “You can't be serious! You're just gonna give up?” 

        “You would do well to remember to address the king with respect,” Ruby said. 

        “No, Darkslayer, he's right to question me,” Lord Vanquisher said, “but I merely ask that you have a little faith. You have both served me well, and I owe you a debt of honor. I cannot bear to lose any more friends in this battle, so I must end it.” He used the sleeve of his good arm to wipe perspiration from the Smiling Dragon's forehead and gave him a fond smile, then stepped out of the circle of their protection with his shield raised high and cried: “I, Lord Vanquisher, King of Raymanthia, wish to surrender.” 

        The Smiling Dragon's jaw dropped. Ruby averted her eyes in shame. 

        " _Halt!_ " From the remaining forces of the invading army strode the disgraced former queen, Lady Drusilla the Worst. Her cape fluttered dramatically behind her as she regarded Lord Vanquisher with disdain. “Do mine ears deceive me?” she asked haughtily. 

        “Nay, Lady Drusilla,” the king said. “Let us negotiate the terms of my surrender, and the crown is yours.” 

        Lady Drusilla raised an eyebrow, then her face split in a cruel smile. “Yes,” she purred. “Let us... _negotiate_.” She sidled up to Lord Vanquisher like a predator to its prey, swishing her cape around her. 

        “None of my knights shall be harmed,” Lord Vanquisher was saying, ticking off points on his fingers. "You will give the dead the proper burials that they deserve." He paused for a moment, thinking. "Oh, and don't mess with the throne room. It took me _forever_ to get it just the way I wanted it. I mean, I had to build a whole freaking throne out of scraps!" 

        Beside Ruby, the Smiling Dragon bristled. His whole body was taut like a string pulled too tight and ready to snap. “I don't like this,” he breathed. “It's too easy.”

        “Indeed. Be on your guard,” Ruby warned. 

        Lady Drusilla gestured to the knights at Lord Vanquisher's back. “Give up your weapons – your king has laid down like the dog he is, tail between his legs.” 

        The Smiling Dragon's grip tightened on his staff, and Lord Vanquisher's shoulders straightened. 

        “I have done no such thing,” the king growled. “I am no coward.” 

        Ruby thought she saw out of the corner of her eye the Smiling Dragon's chest puff with pride, but it was short-lived, because in the next instant, Drusilla had a dagger drawn high and her hand around Lord Vanquisher's pale throat, her fingers painted a fitting blood-red. 

        “No!” the Smiling Dragon cried, lunging toward the former queen with his staff outstretched and his head down. He barreled through two trolls and crushed a centaur's body of painted styrofoam before he intercepted Lady Drusilla. She turned on him with a serpentine hiss and dodged his attack, countering with one of her own, and suddenly the Smiling Dragon's staff clattered to the ground and he was stumbling instead of charging and his hands were clutching at his throat and he was gasping helplessly. 

        The wail that tore from Lord Vanquisher's throat was high, keening, and full of despair. 

        Lady Drusilla the Worst had lived up to her (admittedly pretty awful) name and slashed the Smiling Dragon's throat from ear to ear. That blade had been meant for Lord Vanquisher but the Smiling Dragon had promised that he would die before he saw harm befall his king and he was a man of his word even until the end. He dropped to his knees on the ground, trying and failing to pull in lungfuls of air as his life trickled from between his splayed fingers. 

        Lord Vanquisher was at the Smiling Dragon's side in a heartbeat, cradling his loyal knight in his arms and trying to staunch the blood flow with the dusty hem of his cape, but it was no use. Already the Smiling Dragon's lips were beginning to turn blue. “No, no, no,” Lord Vanquisher sobbed. 

        Everything on the battlefield stopped. Even the dead opened their eyes and peeked at the scene. The trolls and ogres and centaurs paused, hands to their mouths in sympathy, as they witnessed the king's naked anguish writ large. From the sidelines, the Oracle put down his slice of pizza and stared. Lady Drusilla tucked the offending dagger back in her pocket self-consciously. 

        “My lord,” the Smiling Dragon croaked, his voice hoarse and weak. He reached up and cupped Lord Vanquisher's face gently, running a callused thumb across the freckled cheek, stroking the blond eyelashes, the pale eyelids, the long, straight nose with tentative fingertips. “My lord... I'm sorry...” 

        “Hush,” Lord Vanquisher commanded, though it had no power behind it, only misery. He grasped the Smiling Dragon's hand to his chest and cried out for a healer, but none came: they had all been slain in the battle. It was hopeless. Death was approaching. 

        “It's over,” the Smiling Dragon whispered. “You ended the bloodshed. You did what you had to do, and I did what I had to do. I promised you, didn't I? Promised I'd protect you. And I did.” 

        “You cannot leave me!” 

        “I won't. I never will.” The Smiling Dragon pulled Lord Vanquisher to him, their foreheads pressed together. They stayed that way for a moment, breathing each other's air, clutching at one another, not willing to say goodbye. “I will never leave you, my king. My brave, glorious king.” 

        But even now, the Smiling Dragon's grasp was weakening, and soon his arms dropped to his sides, and his shallow, wretched gasps for breath finally fell silent. Lord Vanquisher closed the Smiling Dragon's eyes one last time with the most reverent of caresses, his whole body quaking with grief, and embraced his knight's lifeless body. When he finally stood, swaying on his feet, his face hidden beneath his long bangs, he was clutching the Smiling Dragon's staff in white-knuckled fingers. 

        "Lady Drusilla," Lord Vanquisher snarled, "you have taken from me that which I treasured most. Your death will not bring him back, but perhaps I will sleep a bit better knowing that you are rotting in the ground!" 

        Blazing with heartbreak and righteous fury, he extended the staff to its full length with a violent flick of his wrist and charged Drusilla with it. Immediately he was beset by her mercenaries but he shrugged them off as if they were nothing more than fleas; he was murderous in his determination. Drusilla turned to flee, shrieking in terror, but was impaled through the back on the end of the staff. She choked on lungs suddenly filled with blood and then collapsed, spitting venom and curses at Lord Vanquisher, until he stepped on her throat to quiet her. 

        "The flames of hell take you!" he bellowed. Ruby jumped into action and threw her shortsword to her king, who caught it in his good hand, raised it above his head, and pierced the Lady Drusilla's traitorous heart with it, at which point she promptly expired. 

        The battlefield was still and silent for a moment. A tepid breeze blew through the valley, gently stirring Lord Vanquisher's cape and brushing the Smiling Dragon's dark bangs away from his eyes; Ruby saw one of his eyes was cracked open, watching Lord Vanquisher intently, and he was fighting hard to keep a smile off his face, even though he was _supposed_ to be dead. Suddenly, all around them, cheers erupted from the Raymanthian soldiers and invading horde alike - even the corpses were whooping and hollering. 

        "You did it, my lord!" Ruby exclaimed, rushing to Lord Vanquisher's side as he stumbled, exhaustion and grief taking its toll. "You've slain the evil queen! Raymanthia is safe, thanks to you." 

        "All hail the mighty Lord Vanquisher!" the Smiling Dragon crowed, even though he was _still_ supposed to be dead, and when Ruby shot him a look, he clamped his mouth shut and resumed playing dead with admirable gusto. However, all of the other players had taken up the cheer - _all hail Lord Vanquisher!_ \- and when the Smiling Dragon squinted up at his king, he saw him both blushing a radiant red and smiling with incredible pride. 

        The Oracle stood from his throne on the sidelines (a threadbare old reclining chair draped with Raymanthia's flag) and plucked his tall hat from his head, holding it to his mouth as a makeshift bullhorn. " _Game over,_ " he announced with relish. Immediately, it was as though the curtain had dropped on the final act of a play, and the company of actors shed their assumed skins; the corpses on the battlefield all picked themselves up and congregated in the middle of the field, pulling off their armor, shaking hands, slapping backs, congratulating one another on a game exceedingly well played. Ruby pushed her way through various sweat-soaked bodies until she met Thurman, who was inspecting his sweater for mud stains, because his mom _hated_ it when he came home on the weekends with dirty clothes, and are you _sure_ he wasn't covered in mud, because really, it felt like he was covered in mud, he'd been lying on the ground for a while, so you'd better not be lying, Ruby, seriously. 

        Mike, too, rose to his feet, brushing dust off his jeans and spitting grit out of his mouth, and pushed the hood of the cloak away from Chuck's face. Almost immediately, Lord Vanquisher had dissipated, leaving quiet, awkward, perfect, wonderful Chuck in his place. Of course, wherever Lord Vanquisher disappeared to, so did his regal composure: Chuck fixed Mike with a death glare and punched him in the chest hard enough to send him reeling. "Don't fucking do that again, got it?" he demanded. 

        With a cough and a groan, Mike rubbed his chest where he could already feel a bruise beginning to blossom. Chuck was a skinny bastard but he could throw a punch like his fists were made of bricks. (Mike realized that he was at least partially to blame for that, as he was the one who had taught Chuck to box.) "Do _what_ again?" 

        "Die!" Chuck huffed and blew his bangs out of his face, and Mike could see his eyebrows were drawn low over his eyes. "I hereby revoke your permission to die. From now until forever." 

        "Are we still talking about the game?" Mike asked, but Chuck didn't hear him; he was unfastening his cloak from around his neck and folding it up neatly. 

        "Hey, but, uh," Chuck said, thumbing the fraying hem of his cloak and grinning self-consciously, "I mean, other than that... you did real good, bro. It was good. You were good. Maybe you should come back again next weekend. If you want, that is. You don't have to." 

        "Yeah, y'know, this LARPing thing is pretty entertaining," Mike said quietly, smiling his most charming, crooked smile. "But I think my favorite part is that guy who plays the king."


End file.
